


Needle in My Side

by ravenclawkward



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Feelings, First Time, Frottage, I don't know how it happened, Kissing, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/pseuds/ravenclawkward
Summary: Geralt finds out his bard has a secret. Something resembling feelings ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 125





	Needle in My Side

It started at a lake. Or rather, the lakeshore. 

The siren had dunked them in the black lake, and once the beast had taken her final breath the witcher and bard had been left out of breath and dripping in the brisk summer evening.

Jaskier had shed his ever-present and ever-colorful doublet in favor of just his undershirt, complaining all the while about the state of his wardrobe. 

Geralt realized that for all the times the bard had seen him in any manner of undress, he had yet to see any of Jaskier’s skin bared. In retrospect, this was a bizarre revelation. How many times had they shared closer than comfortable quarters?

He looked a bit closer at the clinging fabric that highlighted the lean lines of Jaskier’s torso, but it wasn’t the surprisingly defined stomach that drew him short. Nor was it the shock of dark chest chair. It was the black smudging he could see underneath the wet cloth. It ran down his left side from underarm to hip. Even his enhanced witcher senses couldn’t distinguish what form might be hidden there

Geralt was distracted for a moment imagining where else the ink might lead. He shook his head to clear it, but the possibilities lingered in his thoughts. 

When Jaskier saw him staring, he hastily turned and with a sweep of his cerulean doublet had covered himself again. 

He had thought about the bard before in that way, who couldn’t with the curve of his smile, the suggestive pose he strikes while performing, the endless flirting. He had told himself, though, that he wasn’t going to fall prey to the same coy grin and honeyed words that so many housewives seemed to have lost themselves in.

When he did think about it, he figured this was no real loss. What he could get from Jaskier he could get from anyone. Or could he? Jaskier was an open book, or so he thought. It wasn’t worth complicating their... friendship? Partnership? For an uninspired roll in the hay. 

He had thought he knew everything there was to know about Jaskier, but the questions brought on by this revelation plagued him. What could it be? A lover? (Geralt ignored the twist in his stomach at the thought). And where could he even have acquired such ornamentation? Tattoos were not exactly popular, particularly with humans. 

He realized he may not know everything there is to know about his enigmatic self-proclaimed spokesperson. 

And the more Geralt thought about it, the more preoccupied with the bard he became. 

He found himself staring at the bard’s clothed sides, trying to picture it again, the way it wound around his skin, how much it must have hurt when he got it, another’s person’s hands intimately pressing against all of that soft skin. 

Jaskier noticed, because of course he did. His quips about Geralt admiring his form turned to confusion, then to actual concern. Geralt deftly avoided his questioning, preferring the tumult of his own head. It was a puzzle, and he would figure it out. He just needed more clues.

He began listening more closely to Jaskier’s seemingly pointless musings and rants. Started catching hints of another life, one that didn’t involve chasing witchers around the continent. He caught Elvish name drops —“oh just a friend of a friend”—and mentions of a life lived separately from the one at court that Geralt had always pictured Jaskier occupying before they met. These all added up to create an enigma; one that Geralt needed to solve. 

His preoccupation morphed somehow without him knowing. He found himself staring not just at the obscured torso, but also at the man himself. The way he spoke with his hands, the easy way he defended Geralt. The way those blue eyes softened when he looked at him, in a way that no one else’s did. 

That night, aided by the adrenaline rush of a near escape, Geralt finally pinned Jaskier to the nearest tree, and, without thinking about it too hard, kissed the startled bard within an inch of his life. The kiss was frantic, all tongues and teeth, the relief that they were both alright overcoming any previous hesitation. Caging Jaskier in with his body, Geralt pressed them together until there was no space between them, hands clutching the bard’s sides desperately. Jaskier gave as good as he got, rapidly undoing the laces on Geralt’s trousers and getting out his rigid cock. 

They brought their bodies together without any finesse, the shock of this finally happening chasing them toward orgasm. 

It happened again later that night, and then the next, but no matter even when they had slowed their pace, more sure of each other and less desperate, Jaskier always found a way to keep his shirt on. 

They were stopped at an inn for the evening when things came to a head. Geralt returned from washing off the Drowner blood and road dust only to see that the bard had already changed into a clean shirt, modestly covered in sharp contrast to Geralt’s dripping torso. Jaskier had refused, as he always did, to accompany him to get cleaned up. 

Geralt, finally at his wits end with the whole affair, finally huffed out, “I didn’t realize you were such a blushing maiden protecting her virtue.” 

“I have no virtue to protect, as you very well may know. Maybe I just don’t want to make you feel inadequate,” Jaskier replied, but it had a hint of deflection to it. 

“Truly Jaskier, what are you hiding?”

“Well if I had known before that you had such interest in seeing me disrobed we could be having an entirely different conversation… or lack thereof.” Jaskier closed the distance between them, lips chasing a water droplet that was making its way from Geralt’s collarbone down his chest. 

Gently, Geralt pushed him away so there was at least breathing space between them. 

“What is it? What could you possibly be ashamed of? Please, tell me.” 

At the “please”, Jaskier took a sharp intake of breath. “Fine, if you’re really so insistent. You’re just not going to look at me the same way, and I hate to have that happen when we finally got here.” 

“To the grand city of Vergen?” Geralt teased to lighten the mood. 

“You know exactly where I mean,” Jaskier reprimanded, then with a serious look on his face gave Geralt a soft, chaste kiss. 

He led the witcher over to the fire side to sit, giving himself some room. With a shudder, Jaskier lifted his shirt, revealing at last the dark ink staining his right side. 

It was words, Geralt could tell that immediately even in the dim light cast by the fire. The structure made it look like...a song?

He shifted closer to get a better look, replacing Jaskier’s hand with his own and feeling the heat rising off of Jaskier’s bared torso. Jaskier was pointedly not looking at Geralt, hard gaze staring somewhere off into the room. 

When he finally started reading, it only took a few lines for Geralt to recognize the ballad. It only took a few seconds after that to realize why Jaskier had been so adamant about hiding it from him. He fought against his revulsion, trying to school his face into something less tumultuous, but it was too late - Jaskier had seen. 

“Why?” he asked simply. 

“I didn’t know you when I got it. It was years before. When I was still at court, trying to decide what I wanted from my life. I had gotten out for the evening, to a tavern in the seediest part of Oxenfurt, and that’s when I heard it. The bard was amazing; the crowd loved him. The cleverness of his lyrics, the feeling he evoked, the admiration of everyone in the room. That was what I wanted for myself. It was then I decided that I would become a bard. And this.. This is what he was singing.” 

Geralt looked again at the lyrics. He supposed that if they weren’t entirely incorrect, and about him, it would have been a good story. He traced the most damning line, _The butcher of Blaviken came to their door, their screams unanswered, they’re heard of no more._

“How did you even meet someone who could do this for you?”

“Well I may have been.. Err.. seeing someone at the time who had the tools. It’s a lot more popular with the elves, you know.” 

“You never cease to surprise me, bard.” 

Jaskier hastily looked up, finally meeting Geralt’s eyes. “You aren’t angry?” 

“I can see why you didn’t want to show me. But no, I’m not angry. It’s what everyone thinks. And, as long as you know it’s not true… that I would never…”

“Of course not! I haven’t thought anything of the like since I met you!” Jaskier was insistent in his denial, finally closing the gap between them and practically climbing onto Geralt’s lap.

"I know you don’t seem to think so." 

"You.. do know you’re amazing, right Geralt?” A furrow had crept between Jaskier’s brows. 

“With the things I’ve done? You may sing pretty verses about me, but we both know what I am.”

“Hey.” Jaskier took Geralt’s face in his hands, in a much more tender gesture than Geralt can remember ever being directed toward him. “You _are_ good. You try so hard to save everyone, whether they deserve it or not. Those fools, they have no idea.” 

Geralt, stunned into silence, had no idea how to reply. He had thought it was just for the sake of the fame that Jaskier spoke so well of him; he hadn’t realized he truly believed it, that anyone could believe it. He let the bard pepper his face in light kisses, first his cheekbone, then the sharp crease in his forehead, then finally his lips. Geralt caught him then, pulling him closer and kissing him soundly, feeling himself relax in ways he didn’t know were possible.

“Anyway, I’m glad you finally know. It was getting rather bothersome keeping clothed when all I wanted was to feel all of _that_ against me.” He gestured broadly at Geralt’s firm chest. 

“No time to waste, then,” Geralt said, picking up Jaskier and moving him over to the bed. With care, he stripped the bard of his shirt and trousers, slipping off his own in the process. 

Once they were both naked, he pressed the full length of his bare body against Jaskier’s, revelling in the heat that sparked between them, the catch of each muscle, the shaky breaths coursing through him. They kissed, slowly, languidly, taking the time to feel each others’ skin. 

Eventually, though, their arousal became too great to ignore, the hard press of the other catching along stomachs, spreading precum between them. 

Reaching into his bag, Geralt took out the vial of oil he had put together for this purpose. After slicking his fingers, he ran one around the Jaskier’s hole, teasing more than anything. 

He began fucking his fingers in at the same pace that he was tongue fucking Jaskier’s mouth, lust rapidly overcoming the sentimentality of the moment. 

Once Jaskier was taking three fingers easily, Geralt flipped him, smoothing his big hands along the bard’s smooth sides, tracing the ink. He lined himself up and smoothly slid into Jaskier’s tight heat, pausing to give him a moment to acclimate. 

He leaned over Jaskier’s body and licked over where the dark ink started its journey down Jaskier’s ribs. He felt more than heard Jaskier’s gasp, and, encouraged, traced each line with his tongue, punctuating with a kiss. 

“God I’m ready Geralt, fuck me, do it.” It was the desperate timber, rather than the words, that prompted Geralt to move. 

And with that Geralt sucked, bracing the body below him while he plowed into him, forming a bruise to further highlight the elegant script. He leaned forward, covering Jaskier’s trembling form as he thrust, over and over, melding their bodies together. Jaskier, with nothing impeding that mouth of his, was repeating the same mantra, over and over, clinging to Geralt’s strong arm braced by his head.

“You’re amazing, so strong, so good, I can’t believe how perfect you are….”

Geralt could hardly breathe for the feelings these words evoked in him. He felt..known, trusted. Even with the countless others, no matter how hard they might pretend, they were scared of the monster, he could tell. With Jaskier, who knew _him_ , It felt like a benediction. 

He could feel his spirit rising with each joining of their bodies, each prayer whispered against his skin. 

“Fuck yes, come in me, please Geralt, you’re so good, making me feel so good, please…” 

“You sure?” Geralt muttered back, holding his orgasm at bay with an uncharacteristic level of uncertainty. 

Jaskier turned as much as possible and, with a heavy and fond gaze, whispered one word, full of conviction: “ _Yes_.”

That’s all it took for Geralt to bring his hand around, finding Jaskier’s leaking cock and stroking it in time with his own release. The heat from his pulsing cock inside him lent to Jaskier’s orgasm, and it wasn’t long after that he was spilling into Geralt’s hand. 

They lay there in a sweating, heaving pile. Geralt withdrew from Jaskier’s body and pulled them down, Jaskier’s back against his chest. Jaskier leaned away to get a cloth to clean them both up, then returned, this time facing Geralt. He pushed Geralt’s pale hair out of his face, caressing him as he did so. Geralt found himself stroking Jaskier’s side, surprised at the possession and tenderness he felt toward the beautiful cursive that depicted such terrible things.

“You sure it’s alright?” Jaskier muttered, pulling him out of his reverie. He lifted himself, settling his chin on Geralt’s chest.

“Mhmm.” 

“Even though it’s so cruel?”

Geralt thought a moment before answering. “If anything, it means even more.” 

At Jaskier’s questioning gaze, he continued. 

“If you can go from believing this,” he lightly stroked down the script, “to the nonsense you sing about now, then maybe there’s hope for me yet. And, if anything, if you never became a bard we probably wouldn’t have met.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Jaskier probed.

“Most days.”

He smirked at Jaskier’s indignant pout, finally pulling him down to rest against him. Jaskier’s breaths settled, and Geralt looked down at him, his sharp mouth softened into a moue of innocence. When Geralt finally drifted off to sleep, dreamt, of all things, of redemption.

**Author's Note:**

> This picture is probably half of why this fic was written: https://www.folkradio.co.uk/2016/07/amazing-devil-love-run/


End file.
